


Lullaby

by MFLuder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, First Time, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Past Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Pre-Canon, Sibling Incest, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 06:59:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18493765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MFLuder/pseuds/MFLuder
Summary: And if you wake before I'm gone, remember this sweet lullaby.





	Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted December 17, 2006, at [my DW](https://mf-luder-xf.dreamwidth.org/78875.html) to fulfill robinchristine's Christmast wish list. Inspired by Josh Groban's _Lullaby_.

Dean wouldn't stop crying and she and John had tried everything. He wasn't hungry, or cold, or sick. She was tired herself, and John was no better. Dean had been crying for two hours straight with barely a breath between wails.

Finally, she shooed John off to bed. Someone would need to be awake the next day once Dean actually fell asleep.

Out of options, she began to sing what had seemed to calm Dean when she was pregnant. With the first few notes he was already quieting and by the second verse he was fast asleep on her shoulder. She smiled at her beautiful boy and just kept singing.

******************

Sam opened the metal door of his Stanford dorm room, letting out a small gasp.

“Hey, little brother.”

Dean was leaning against the door frame, clutching at his side and he looked like shit. 

He looked amazing.

“God, what happened to you?” Sam grabbed his brother and dragged him in. His hands pushed up Dean's shirt even as he tried to bat Sam away. “You gotta let me see, Dean. What else did you come for?”

Wincing as he sat, Dean looked at him. “Came to see you.”

Sam couldn't help the snort that escaped him. “Right. 'Cause you've shown up so often before.” He removed Dean's leather jacket before sliding the gray tee off. So much blood.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he finally got Dean to move his hands and let him see. Some claw marks, but they weren't deep and wouldn't even need sewing up, only cleaning and rest.

“What happened? Dad know you're here?” he asked as he stood and grabbed the hydrogen peroxide from his closet.

“Cougar. Can you believe it? Freakin' normal – _giant_ – cat. And yeah, Dad knows I'm here. Told me to take a few days off and he went right on through to Idaho. Some ghost or something.”

_That is so like him_ , Sam wanted to say, but kept his mouth shut as he blotted at the cuts, cleaning blood and dirt from the wounds.

“Well, I'm glad you came. They don't need stitches, but you're going to be sore. You can stay here a few days.”

Dean opened his eyes which had shut at the first touch of the hydrogen peroxide. “You don't mind? Your roommate won't?”

Rolling his eyes, Sam replied, “Dean, it's summer, if you didn't notice. Hardly anyone's here. I just, ah...had to take some classes.” He lowered his own eyes, but still caught the spark of hurt in his brother's.

Dean only responded with, “I wondered why I was sweating so much in this town. Summer, eh?”

Sam gently smacked him and threw the cotton balls away. He lay a piece of gauze over the gashes, patting and taping it into place. He watched as Dean's eyes fluttered closed and his breathing got smoother. Smiling to himself, he started to strip Dean of his boots.

“Hey, whatcha doing?” Dean muttered, sluggishly attempting to sit up.

“It's okay; sleep, rest up before you rejoin Dad.” Sam pulled off his brother's jeans, and slid his legs under the blankets, waving away Dean's arms as he tried to protest.

Once situated under the covers, Dean's eyelids slipped shut again, mouth barely moving as he mumbled, “Didn't mean to bother you, Sam...”

Looking at the pink lips and face slack with exhaustion, Sam brushed his fingers through his already sleeping brother's hair.

******************

Dean woke at noon the next day, feeling much better and ready to eat. Sam couldn't help the laugh when Dean's first words were, “What can we get to eat in this town?”

Then that night he'd wanted to find the best bar and buy his 'college boy' brother a beer or two and still they didn't talk about Dad or hunting or anything Sam used to know. Presumably, Dean was trying to spare him or give him his normal life, or whatever shit went through his brother's mind.

They walked back to Sam's dorm; the conversation running from the Impala's last tune-up to how the fuck did he manage not to sleep through business law every day, 'cause really, you couldn't get more boring than torts. 

Dean chattered on about the last chick he'd done in some Ohio diner while, still slightly amused that Dean even knew what a tort was, Sam yanked off shoes and hoodie and sprawled onto his bed the moment they got back. 

“Dean.”

“What?” His brother stopped mid-sentence, then shifted, seeming to know what Sam was going to ask.

“How's Dad?”

“He's fine, what do you care?” Testy, broken off words.

Sam sighed, bringing up a hand to rub over his face. “Just because I don't want to hunt for life doesn't mean I don't want to know about you guys. You're still my family.”

“Well, you don't treat us like we are.” Dean's voice was bitter.

Sitting up, Sam gestured to the bed, but Dean ignored it. “Of course, I do. What kid doesn't have his rebellious moments? If I remember correctly, at thirteen you thought you were going to run away and join the circus. You made it as far as the next town before Dad found you.”

“But I came back. And I was _thirteen_. Thirteen isn't nineteen. You're serious. I was a horny pre-teen who had liked the looks of the sky rope walker.”

Sam smirked, but seeing Dean was dead serious, he let it fall. “Look. I mean, is he okay? He hasn't been injured or anything, right? Still going strong?”

Dean looked at him, but let the evasive maneuver go. “He's fine.” He sat on the edge of the bed, bent knee touching Sam's thigh. He bit at a nail. “Good, actually. He misses you, regrets that last fight...but on the other hand, it's a lot easier to hunt without you bitching about your homework.”

Sam punched him in the arm and got a half-smile in return. “What about you, Dean? How are you?”

His brother looked away and didn't answer for so long, Sam was about to flop back onto the bed and give it up as a lost cause.

But then, turning back around, still biting the nail of one hand, he lay the other on Sam's shoulder. “I've missed you.” Affection shone clear in his eyes, but also a deep sadness that Sam couldn't stand to see.

“I've missed you, too, big brother.”

They exchanged a smile. Before Dean could ruffle his hair and put the walls back up, Sam darted in, laying a firm kiss on the pouty lips already so close to his. He pulled away after a moment but rested a hand on Dean's thigh. 

His brother's face was blank, eyes darting to the hand before calmly saying, “What the hell was that, Sam?”

Sam considered. He hadn't planned it. Wasn't sure why he did it. But now...now it felt right. Felt good. A slow tingle was making its way up his arm from where his hand rested on hard muscle. It wasn't a tingle of disgust or embarrassment.

So he said, truthfully, “Me, missing you.”

“That's pretty fucked up.”

He shrugged. He could tell Dean wasn't absolutely horrified or ready to punch him. Whatever happened couldn't be any worse than Dean closing up all his feelings and leaving. 

Though he still shouldn't be on the road with that injury.

“This isn't exactly ‘normal,’ Sam.”

Looking away and controlling the desire to both jump and smack his brother, he replied, “I never said 'normal'. I said safe.” He looked back, ready for the shut down his next line would cause. “I can't imagine feeling any safer than with you.”

He watched as, in rapid succession, Dean's jaw dropped, then shut and clenched, eyes flickering from hazel to green to swirling dark brown. The hand on his shoulder tightened.

Then Dean was leaning forward, crashing into Sam's space, mouth on his.

Sam quickly grabbed at Dean's shirt, not willing to give Dean the chance to pull away. His brother winced, so Sam crept his grip higher but didn't let go. His senses were being invaded by Dean; musk and leather was all he could smell, beer and mint all he could taste, warm and rough hands all he could feel.

Until Dean pushed him onto his back on his bed and slipped his tongue in Sam's mouth. Then he could feel heavy muscle, a hard cock, and taste spit and whatever the flavor was that he could only call Dean. 

He let out a whoosh of air and a whimper into the kiss and Dean pulled back, feelings warring across his face, looking utterly debauched. “Don't start something you can't finish, little brother. We do this and I'm not sure I'll be able to give it up.”

Dean's possessive tone was the undoing of Sam. Had he harbored any doubts, the concern and pure need etched into the features of his brother would have caused them to fly out the window. Unable to respond with words, he simply bucked up against Dean, yanking his head down for a kiss. 

“Oh, God, Sam,” Dean groaned against Sam's neck. “You always were going to be the death of me...”

Sam smiled, sure and cocky. “But think about it. What a way to go!”

He felt a sharp nip at his neck and only grinned wider when Dean said, “We'll see about that, big shot.”

They were kissing again, and had Sam ever thought about what it would be like, he'd never have thought like this. Dean kissed him wet and passionate, but not hurried and not rough. His hands slid up and under Sam's shirt, brushing over sensitive nipples and caressing his back.

“Off,” he murmured, and Sam obliged, dragging it over his head, mussing his hair in the process. Dean didn't seem to mind.

“It's grown out,” he whispered, fingering the brown locks. “Your hair always was unruly.”

Sam couldn't help but point out, “Yours has gotten darker.”

A sad smile flashed on his brother's face. “You're not the only one that changes.”

Sam knew then, something was wrong. Not with what they might do – _were_ going to do – but with Dean. He'd always been a genuinely happy person. Something twisted in Sam's gut with the knowledge that he had something to do with why Dean wasn't like that anymore. 

So, he tried to make it up to his older brother, running his hands over golden skin into tight jeans, bringing Dean closer to him. He kissed with fire and need and lust. He licked at Dean's jaw, down his throat, nuzzled and slid a finger down Dean's ass, just parting and brushing at the pucker he found.

Dean arched into him, writhing almost desperately against his thigh. “Jeans,” he gasped. 

They managed to separate long enough to get rid of any clothes before Dean had him pressed down into the mattress again, devouring his skin, licking hot and wet over his stomach, thighs, and finally, on his cock.

“Fuck, Dean. Oh, _fuck_.”

“What a mouth on you. Bet you can do better than that, though.” Dean looked up from where he was idly teasing Sam's erection to a state of hardness he'd never achieved before, his pupils blown wide under thick lashes.

Sam panted through the words he wanted to say, not willing to give into Dean yet, trying to stem back orgasm, by thinking of anything...thinking of Dad.

That worked. He cringed, wondering just what exactly John Winchester would think if he knew his oldest son was about to fuck his youngest.

At least it worked until Dean wrapped those too damn pretty lips around his cock, taking him down until Sam could feel the back of his throat. Sam tried to warn him with an exaggerated, “Dean,” but it came out as a giant groan and then he was shooting down Dean's throat, on his face as he pulled off and onto his own chest.

“For fuck's sake, Sam, warn a guy, would ya?” But even through his orgasm, Sam could see amusement sparkling in his sibling's eyes.

“Oh, God. Unnnngh...” he breathed as his hips still thrust up of their own accord, Dean milking him slowly until his knees started to pull in around his crotch.

Sliding back up, Dean leaned in to kiss him and Sam greedily accepted, despite the bitter taste of himself mixed in with everything else.

“You're beautiful when you come.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at that and it made Dean grimace sheepishly before leaning in for another kiss.

Slipping a hand down their bodies, Sam wrapped his hand around his brother's turgid cock, gently jacking him off. “So now what?” He licked at a spot of come on Dean's chin.

Leaning in to nibble at Sam's neck, Dean sidled up closer. “Well, you could keep doing what you're doing, or we could test your own skills at—” he grinned “—mouth-to-co-”

Sam cut him off. “Or you could fuck me.”

He had to laugh at Dean's stunned expression. It only lasted a brief moment though, before a shadow seemed to darken his features. He ran a hand up and down Sam's chest. “I don't want to—”

“How did you ever get so many women if you act like this with them? I'm not going to break.”

“Sam, this is different!” Suddenly, Dean's face loomed right above his and Sam blanched. Dean didn't get angry often. Not at him. “Don't you understand? You said you felt safe with me. Well, you think I want to betray that? You're...don't you know how different you are?”

Sam could have taken that as an offense, but knew his brother meant Sam was different to him. He swept a soothing hand up over Dean's flank and kissed him gently. “I want this. For me, Dean. Please.”

“I-I...mmmm.” Words were swallowed by another kiss that Sam kept up until he felt Dean give in. “Okay,” he whispered. 

Sam smiled.

“Do you have any stuff?”

He reached under Dean's body to pull open the nightstand drawer. Lube and condoms.

Dean let out a moan, catching his bottom lip with his teeth when he saw the items. Sam leaned in and captured the lip with his own, handing the lube over.

Dean was shaking just a little as he rolled the condom onto his hard and flushed dick. Sam brought his own hands up to help.

“Oh, God, don't touch me.”

Sam took his hands off like he'd been burned.

“No, I mean. I mean, if you touch me, I'm going to come, and I don't want this to be over yet.”

_Oh_.

So instead, Sam let his hands smooth over trim hips. He dug his nails in the littlest bit, leaving half-moon marks that wouldn't last more than ten minutes but made him happy and Dean groan.

He spurred Dean on. “Come on. I want you to—”

Two fingers breached him, covered in lube, and at first his body rejected them. He breathed, and they slid in easy and he felt wet and good. He whined.

“Shhh,” Dean whispered, leaning over him again so they could kiss. Mouths barely met as Dean scissored and stretched him open. “You feel so good.”

“More, Dean.”

Obliging, Sam felt Dean slide his fingers in further and had to refrain from an undignified yelp as one slid over his prostate. When Dean stopped moving his fingers, Sam squirmed and fucked himself. He noticed Dean's eyes watched his fingers slide in and out and so Sam only did it faster and more enthusiastically, seeing Dean's eyes glaze over.

“Need you so bad, please...” Sam trailed off and caught Dean's straining cock. “In me...”

Finally, Dean snapped out of his daze and he slowly pushed Sam's legs up, kissing the inside of each thigh before grabbing himself and lining up. The initial thrust burned. Sam threw his head back: half in pain, half in joy.

“Dean, Dean...” It became a litany as Dean let him adjust before he started moving. Lips peppered kisses up his throat, traveling up until tongues could twist and dance against one another.

“Ready?” Dean's voice was hoarse and quiet. Sam nodded.

The movements were slow, smooth circles that had Sam feeling full and surrounded by Dean. Truly Dean's now, he just wrapped his legs around his brother and welcomed him in. Dean was murmuring words in his ear and it felt like love, like completion and he wasn't about to shut his brother up.

They moved in tandem, both fairly quiet, just breath ghosting on skin and the occasional words from Dean, but even they were whispered. It was like a hush had settled on the room and Sam never wanted it to go away. When he came again the second time, it felt no less thrilling or right than the first. And when Dean came, his mouth dropped open, his breath hitched and it was about the most beautiful sight Sam had ever known. He wanted to do it again and again. Just make Dean come. Know he was coming because of _Sam_. 

When Dean pulled out, he rested on his hip beside Sam and just looked.

“What?” Sam asked, suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Dean said. “Just...never mind.”

Sam chuckled. “I love you, too, idiot.”

Dean blushed. Sam blinked. He couldn't remember a time when Dean had ever blushed. It was unusual, but endearing.

However, his eyes felt heavy and rather than bother to walk all the way down the hall to the bathroom to clean up, he just threw an arm over his brother and rested his head on Dean's chest.

“What are you doing?”

Not looking up, Sam could hear the eyebrow raise. He nuzzled closer, depositing a few kisses on the smooth pectoral beneath him. “It's called cuddling. Or post-orgasmic bliss. Otherwise known as I'm tired and you're warm.”

He felt more than heard the snort, but Dean just reached down to pull off the condom and toss it in the garbage can. Then his hand crept up and started playing with Sam's hair again, brushing through the strands and massaging his scalp. 

Sam sighed, content. “Sleep. Your wound still needs to heal.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean's voice was far away.

Sam just dozed, thinking he'd never felt so safe and loved before.

******************

Hours later, Sam didn't feel when Dean slipped out from under him, got his things and leaned over Sam. He didn't feel the kiss on his temple or the way Dean brushed his hair from his eyes. He didn't hear when Dean hummed a melancholy tune to himself as he slipped out the door.

******************

Dean knew the moment it started. Knew the smoke he saw was coming from Sam's apartment, knew what was happening. All thought as he ran up the stairs was _save Sam, gotta save Sammy_ , and then he was pulling Sam from the fire like he'd done twenty-two years ago.

This time though, he couldn't hold Sam close to his chest and whisper it would be alright because Sam was too big and it wouldn't be alright. Dad wouldn't be there to comfort either of them and nothing would bring Jess back.

That, more than anything tore at Dean. That Sam had found someone he loved so much, who had seemed so right by his side that Dean felt small and inconsequential. But it was worse that in one night it had been ripped from him in the most brutal way. And Dean...he was sure he could have stopped it. Should have known. Should have recognized the date. Somehow.

But instead, he'd been oblivious, thinking only how much Sam had grown, become his own person. He'd sunk into a funk on the way back because he knew he didn't fit with Sam anymore and fuck it all, he was jealous. 

Wallowing in his own self-pity had never brought anything but more pain and there was the proof. Sam had lost his girlfriend and home in the blink of an eye and all Dean wanted to do was touch him.

Sam was in the bathroom, showering. Dean knew he was trying to wash away the stink of ashes and flesh from himself and not succeeding. Dean still carried phantom ashes with him; it wasn't something you could wash or exorcise away.

He sighed and set his duffel on the floor. The next day, they'd have to go back and salvage whatever could be, hope something might still be useful in their hunt for Dad. He sat on the bed, fully clothed, sans his jacket.

Sam exited twenty minutes later, hair nearly dry except for the ends, dressed again in a pair of sweat pants he'd borrowed from a neighbor of his for the night. They rode low so that they would reach his ankles, too short his brother's taller frame, though the guy had been huge in his own right. Dean swallowed, tongue suddenly thick in his mouth.

“How you doing, Sam?”

A grunt.

“Really. How—”

“You know,” Sam interrupted, “I never understood why in movies and shows, when someone nearly gets his head chopped off by the bad guy or his leg's broken, people ask if he's okay. Let's not do that.”

Dean nodded.

He watched as Sam paced back and forth, tension creeping into his broad shoulders and Dean despaired for him. He now knew how Sam felt all those times when Dean was clearly upset but wouldn't show it; that sense of helplessness, but a need to make it better somehow.

“Dean, I—” Sam sat beside him, shoulders nearly at his ears, hunched over.

“It's okay.” Dean held out a hand, not touching, but trying to convey solace. “I can't imagine how you feel, not really. But...but I'm here.” When Sam remained unnaturally silent, Dean let out a breath. “You know, before Mom died...she used to sing to us.”

No response.

“It was this pretty lullaby that I loved. If I ever had a nightmare, all she had to do was sing that song and I'd sleep the rest of the night through. I remember, when you were born, that first night you came home, we all piled onto Dad and Mom's bed. Dad's arm was around her and she held me in her lap and for the first time, I got to hold you. You were so small, Sam. Hard to believe you're such a giant now.” 

He couldn't help a tiny smile and noticed some of the tension fade from his younger brother's shoulders.

“That night, she sang to both of us. She hardly missed a night. Only if she was sick. And the night she died. I think she just forgot. She didn't sing that night to you.” He paused. “I wish you could remember. She had a beautiful voice.”

Silence for a long time, and just when Dean was about to leave to attempt sleep on the other bed, Sam asked, “Do you know it?”

“What?” Dean questioned.

“The song. The...lullaby.”

Dean looked at his brother. Sam had gone from being a hunched figure to one that had collapsed in on itself. He'd never seen him take up so little room. His voice sounded young.

“Yeah, I do,” he replied, thinking the tune in his head, the words so familiar and ingrained into his memory.

Finally, Sam looked at him. His eyes were a shining brown, brimming with tears and his whole body was shaking. Dean couldn't stand to see that pain there. He pulled his quivering brother to him, wrapping him in a hug before encouraging him to lie down, head in Dean's lap. Sam's fingers tightened in the denim covering Dean's thigh as he stared at the blank wall.

Dean began to smooth back the hair from Sam's face, brushing high cheekbones as tears began to run down. His voice was a little too high, a little rough, but Sam didn't seem to mind, so he sang, hoping it would give Sam as much comfort as it had Dean.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow and chat with me [on tumblr](http://mf-luder-xf.tumblr.com)!


End file.
